


On A Night Like This

by Dulcinea



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe: Planet Vegeta Exists, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Dirty Dancing, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Self-Lubrication, Top Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: Nightclubs weren’t Vegeta’s scene. Nothing about them appealed to him, but Raditz always convinced him to come—and this time, he’s glad he said yes.A Planet Vegeta AU one-shot.
Relationships: Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92





	On A Night Like This

This wasn’t Vegeta’s scene. Saiyan bodies of every shape and size and gender swayed and sung under the pulsing, changing lights. Some threw their hands in the hot air, some moved to the beat, some laid dead across pieces of furniture—some clothed, others not so much. 

It was like every club Vegeta ever attended: loud, dark and obnoxious. Raditz insisted each time “this one will be different,” but it wasn’t. It never was, and he always tagged along, because Tor forbid that Raditz did something stupid to embarrass the Royal Family,  _ again _ . So Vegeta disguised himself as much as possible: all dark clothes from head to toe, no royal insignia on anything, his hair matted down with oil and tied low to the nape of his neck. As much as he hated the smell, dousing himself with perfume to disguise his scent from anyone who could potentially know his identity was a smart move to do. Just in case his Father found out—or worse. His  _ mother _ . 

Vegeta sat on a leather couch at the far end of the club, drinking from a beer bottle Raditz handed to him some time ago. An hour maybe, two hours or so—either way, Raditz abandoned him, yet again, at a club he didn’t know, in a province of Planet Vegeta he at least  _ slightly _ knew, because Raditz always thought with his dick, never with his brain. The second Vegeta caught sight of Raditz’s new flavor of the week, he knew what was coming. 

Why he was still waiting for the idiot to show up, Vegeta didn’t know. He usually gave up after one hour and flew his way home in the dead of night. Tonight, though, Vegeta gave Raditz a bit more time. Maybe his deadbeat ‘bodyguard’ might finally show his stupid face and remember he abandoned the Prince of all goddamn Saiyans, again—after having convinced said Prince, again, that he needed a break and clubs were fun and ‘it’ll be different, promise!’ 

The bass in the club pounded the walls, booming and thick, hurting Vegeta’s chest and head—as if turning up the volume was going to make the music better. He scowled, taking another pull from his bottle. 

_ Should've said no.  _ He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and sunk deeper into the black couch, the bottle resting between his legs.  _ Should've said fuck off. Fucking Raditz. _

His eyes scanned the room. Nothing resembled Raditz. It was all the same stupid faces, stupid laughs, stupid dancing, stupid everything. The club throbbed in time with his headache— _ thump-thump, thump-thump— _ and he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

He grabbed the neck of his bottle and drained the rest in a few gulps. When he dropped it to the floor, the bottle rolled-bounced-rolled-hit the side of the couch. 

Vegeta placed his hands on top of his thighs, leaning forward to get up—

The couch dipped beside him. 

He glanced to the side to see who it was—and leaned back into the couch, his lips curling into a wide smirk. 

“Why hello there, Kakarot,” Vegeta said. “It’s been too long.” 

Raditz’s little brother glared at him, and Vegeta chuckled at how weird he looked, trying to seem angry and intimidating, when he came across as nothing but. Kakarot was a too cheerful-too sweet pitiful excuse of a Saiyan warrior. How he became a first class soldier from his origins as a third-class nothing pissed off Vegeta as well as confused him. Not even Raditz was first class, but second. There were rumors swirling that Kakarot would soon become an Elite, and Vegeta bristled with anger whenever those whispers came his way. 

This wasn’t a normal Saiyan. Not surprising, considering Kakarot and Raditz’s parents were worshipers of Soli, the stupid sun goddess, purveyor of mercy and protection. One of the two brothers was bound to be a child of Soli. It at least skipped Raditz, who was more like himself and everyone else on the planet—a child of Tor, the moon warrior goddess, purveyor of strength and pride. But Kakarot had the power to back up his soft-hearted nature. The power, the prowess and the capabilities—to the point where he gave  _ Vegeta _ an actual workout whenever they sparred. 

Kakarot’s hair stuck up in weird places just like his father, messy bangs falling into usually kind eyes, but they held no warmth in them this time. He wore no shirt, his naked skin glistening from sweat under the changing lights, the leather pants obviously two sizes too small for his body. All a gorgeous, delicious sight to see, but Vegeta already had a taste of this man, multiple times. The sex was always good, especially right after one of their intense spars, sweaty and panting and blood rushing from wounds and their skin aflame. The trysts were satisfying enough to make Vegeta indulge in Kakarot more than any other person he had prior, but that wasn’t what made him come back each time. 

It was this—the verbal sparring—that spurned Vegeta on. “How many dicks have you sucked tonight?”

Kakarot didn’t take the bait. “What the  _ fuck _ are you doing here?”

“Hmm, I guess not enough, then. You don’t sound hoarse.”

“Your parents will kill you if you get found out.”

“ _ Definitely _ not fucked enough either. You still have that rod up your ass.” 

_ That _ got a reaction. Kakarot’s tail bristled behind him, shouting over the pounding music, “You’re one to fucking talk!”

“Shh.” Vegeta pushed a finger over his own lips, giving Kakarot a sly wink. “Don’t want to blow my cover, do we?”

“If I knew it wouldn’t get Raditz in trouble, I would.” His teeth gritted as Kakarot enunciated slowly, “You need to leave.”

“Oh, I know. But someone has to watch out for your stupid brother.”

“He can take care of himself, asshole.”

“Temper  _ temper,  _ Kakarot.” Vegeta chuckled the way he knew pissed off Kakarot the most—sinister, belittling. “You better watch your tone with me.”

“Or what, call the royal guard? Blow your cover yourself?”

“I wouldn’t pull a stupid stunt like that.” Vegeta leaned in closer to Kakarot. “I’m not you.”

Only Kakarot could move that fast, to the point where the second Vegeta blinked, he was now right up in his face, right next to him on the couch, with a finger jabbing right up against his left pec. “Get the fuck out of here before you both get in trouble.”

“Tch.” Vegeta slapped Kakarot’s hand away. “As if  _ my _ parents would believe you or your brother over me. All I have to say is I’m sorry, it was your idea—or his—” He leaned in, nose brushing nose. “—and I’ll be  _ just _ fine.”

Kakarot didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. He glared right at him—the same look Vegeta saw when they fought in the palace’s training grounds—and it took everything in him to not punch or kiss Kakarot when he snarled in a low growl, “ _ I fucking hate you _ .”

“Yes, I know.” He leaned far away from him, coming to his feet. “Off you go, Kakarot.” As he walked away, he winked over his shoulder. “Find someone clean tonight,  _ k’ne _ ?”

Vegeta cackled when he heard Kakarot yell back, “Eat shit, fuckface!” 

Elbowing his way through the sweaty mass of flesh and tails proved easy at first. He made his way around the whole club, looking for Raditz’s long mane of hair, to no avail. Each shove to his shoulders, each knock of elbows against his chest, each accidental touch of fingers to some part of his body—it all slowly increased his anger and decreased his patience. 

One pass was more than enough. Two passes was generous. At the third go-around the club, Vegeta was done with this place. All the people rubbing against his sides, some grinding into his back, a few brushing his skin, his clothes—as if trying to make Vegeta one of them, pulling him into their dancing blob—he was done. Flat out done.

Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, down his chin and neck. He pushed one person to the side. Another. Elbowed his way through each couple, each Saiyan. Some yelled in protest. Others gasped. A very few cursed him out, and Vegeta repressed the urge to yell or punch back. 

Towards the middle of the club was a small, empty patch of nothing on the dance floor. No Saiyans in the way, no one flailing their arms or legs about, no one there, like an eye to a storm. Vegeta walked right to it and went to his tip-toes, searching in the flashing lights and the sea of people for the exit. Any exit. 

His black eyes scan around, his body turning on his heel— 

Then Vegeta’s jaw dropped wide open. 

A sharp gasp ripped out of him, a sound that registered louder than the music itself. 

_ Kakarot _ .

He danced with someone taller, lankier than himself, but it wasn’t really like the dancing everyone else performed tonight. In this thick sea of Saiyans, right in front of him, Kakarot didn’t dance. Didn’t flail or swayed or anything like that. 

Kakarot  _ flowed.  _ He moved with grace and confidence, as did his tail, moved with the same kind of prowess and expertise he showed in every spar. He moved with the same ease and comfort he had when he spoke with people of all ranks and classes. He  _ knew _ what he was doing, but he didn’t overpower, didn’t push the other Saiyan into doing what he wished. He followed the other Saiyan. Worked with the other Saiyan on the dance floor. Even though Kakarot clearly knew better. Even though Kakarot was clearly the more experienced of the two. 

The strength behind each roll of his hips. The way the leather clung to his ass. How Kakarot twitched his tail, arched his neck, bit his bottom lip, slithered down that lanky Saiyan’s body and back up again in one fluid motion. It was a song Kakarot constructed himself, right in the middle of this dirty club, this stupid dance floor, in a sea of Saiyans who couldn’t appreciate this display of raw power, sheer strength and… 

Kakarot wrapped one leg around that lanky Saiyan’s waist and drew him in  _ hard _ , gasping on top of his lungs. A gasp Vegeta somehow heard. 

Sensuality. Sexiness. 

Pure raw Saiyan bliss. 

Vegeta couldn’t look away.

He stared at the two of them move. Watched that lanky Saiyan command Kakarot’s body in a way that didn’t look graceful or comfortable, but not once did Kakarot wince or complain. He watched how that Saiyan jerked Kakarot around, shoving that ass up against his crotch, how his hand trailed down from Kakarot’s chest to his hip and back up again. How that hand raked nails down Kakarot’s sternum, and the way Kakarot arched right into that hand, his lips forming a perfect O. Red welts rose underneath the flickering lights, the Saiyan trailed his lips down Kakarot’s ear, both hands came into play now, resting on top of Kakarot’s defined chest—

His breath caught when the Saiyan pinched Kakarot’s nipples hard. 

He nearly swayed from the way Kakarot writhed uncontrollably, his lips twisted up in a dual image of pain and pleasure. 

Blood rushed through his head at every pull, every pinch, every squeeze to those nipples. Those pecs. Muscles that Vegeta knew well. Areas that Vegeta knew drove Kakarot crazy. Areas that Vegeta loved to exploit and worry and devour every time he had Kakarot in his bed. Because he knew Kakarot loved it. He knew what it made Kakarot do. 

And that body, the body Vegeta knew so intimately—it  _ glistened _ under the lights. The torso he scarred more than once with bites and sucks and ki blasts and punches. The parted, pink lips he split open as well as kissed raw and red. The hair Vegeta yanked and pulled on during spars and during sex, because he knew Kakarot hated it and craved it. The tail that snuck around the Saiyan’s left bicep and squeezed hard, only to release that hold and run the furry tip up and down the underside of his arm, to tease him, to entice him, the same way Kakarot did to him every time. All of it glistened. All of it shined. All parts that made up a beacon of slow-moving sex in the middle of this club, as if coaxing anyone or everyone to flutter over and entangle their teeth into his flesh and his ass and eat him alive. 

Because Kakarot wanted it. Kakarot craved it. He moved to the tempo, to the beat, leaning into this stupid, unworthy, dumbass excuse of a Saiyan, rolling with him, digging his hands into that Saiyan’s hair, submitting to him, like Kakarot did every time with him in bed, because even though Kakarot was the one obeying, he was still the one calling the shots. Just like now. Right here. In front of him. In front of everyone. 

Vegeta’s hands twitched at his sides. 

His dry mouth couldn’t shut. 

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. Not when that lanky, tall Saiyan gripped Kakarot’s hips and yanked him more onto his dick, grinding into Kakarot’s ass. Not when that Saiyan dragged his sharp canines up and down Kakarot’s neck, down to the juncture of his shoulder, and back up. Not when he could hear Kakarot’s whine, Kakarot’s whimper, Kakarot’s heavy breathing, Kakarot’s damned cries of pain  _ and _ pleasure—

White teeth grazed down Kakarot's neck, followed by a pink tongue. Tasting Kakarot. Taking in the sweat. 

Kakarot grinned, tilting his head to the side.

Vegeta quivered.

Teeth scraped Kakarot's skin, into the side of Kakarot's exposed neck. 

Vegeta’s hands turned into tight fists. 

He zeroed in on that side of Kakarot’s neck—the side that housed the bruise Vegeta left last time. A bruise he almost turned into a full bite, a move that he instantly regretted, especially when Kakarot yelled at him after, wondering why he would almost do such a thing. He didn’t have an answer then. But he had one now. It screamed in his head, burned his body alive, his instincts crying out to fight, to kill, because someone had their hands, their body, their teeth right there, right fucking  _ there _ , and that was unacceptable. That wasn’t okay. 

His heart went  _ thump thump thump _ in time with the bass. 

Teeth grazed that bruise. His bruise. 

The mark he made. The mark he nearly completed. 

A slight nip of teeth—Kakarot’s visible gasp—a small trickle of blood oozing out— 

Vegeta  _ snarled. _

He vaguely heard the cries of the people on the dance floor, but he didn’t see them. They didn’t exist. All he saw, all he smelled, was the red on Kakarot’s neck.  _ His _ Kakarot’s neck. 

Even though the Saiyan was much taller than him, Vegeta used his brute strength to grab the man’s neck into his strong palm, yanking him off Kakarot’s neck. With a twist of his whole body, Vegeta slammed the peon into the ground, face first. 

The dance floor cracked. Vegeta saw pieces of it under the flashing lights. Blood poured out soon after. But the Saiyan was breathing. Vegeta heard his groan of pain. 

Underneath him, the Saiyan began to move, to push up to his hands and knees, and Vegeta pinned his knee into his lower back and leaned in. He smirked at the Saiyan’s sharp cry. 

Slowly, he leaned down, until his lips came close to the Saiyan’s ear. 

“Fuck off,” he hissed. “He’s mine.”

With a final shove of the Saiyan to the back of his neck, Vegeta rose to his feet. He suppressed his chuckle at the pathetic sight of this Saiyan coming to his hands and knees and crawling away, tail limp between his legs, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Around him, the crowd parted. Some patrons stared at Vegeta, at the retreating Saiyan. Some faces lit up in recognition, mouths turning into little ‘o’s, and Vegeta could care less if the word got out now. 

Vegeta grinned, turning around— 

_ SLAP _

Kakarot shouted, “What the  _ fuck _ was that for?!” 

His hand flew up to his burning cheek, snapping his attention back to meet Kakarot’s glare head-on. “He was  _ marking _ you.”

“So what if he was? Why the fuck would you care?”

“Because you know where he was biting, fool! You know what that means!”

Kakarot closed the gap between them, getting up into his face and sneering low, beneath the sound of the music: “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I wanted him to do that?”

The music lessened to a lull. The room darkened on the edges of his vision. Something inside his stomach dropped. So did his heart. Nothing registered outside of Vegeta’s mind, but Kakarot and what he said. How he said it. 

He almost didn’t recognize his own voice as he said, “You would let some random Saiyan mate with you in the middle of a nightclub. A Saiyan you didn’t know. A Saiyan you never met before. Never had any relationship with whatsoever.” The volume of his voice rose. “You would spit in the face of our mating traditions and dishonor yourself—”

“As if you fucking care.”

Vegeta growled, “Kakarot—”

“Get out of here. Go back to the palace. Leave and don’t come back again.” He turned away from Vegeta, shaking his head. “Like always.”

His hand shot out to snatch up Kakarot’s before his mind caught up to the action. He almost felt out of control, out of his own body in a way, watching himself from a distance—how his fingers bruised Kakarot’s wrist, how he yanked Kakarot back to him, how their chests met, their noses brushed, the sight of Kakarot’s blood on his neck, the smell of it— 

“You can’t blame this on me.” Vegeta’s fingers tightened around Kakarot’s wrist. “It’s not my fault.”

No fear in those black eyes. That pale face. “You could’ve said no. But you didn’t.” Kakarot chuckled, shaking his head. “You never do.” A chuckle that petered off into a whisper, those eyes glistening under the lights. “I never do.”

Then Kakarot yanked his hand away with all his strength, out of Vegeta’s hold, turned on his heel and bulldozed his way through the crowd. 

Again, his body acted first before his mind. He followed Kakarot through the sea of Saiyans, stumbling and shouldering past arms and legs and crotches and asses before he caught him at the far end of the club. He snatched both of Kakarot’s wrists, spun his body around— 

Their lips met in a bruising, crushing kiss. 

A fight with their mouths. As passionate and brutal as their spars. Kakarot shoving his tongue into his. Vegeta sucking on Kakarot’s bottom lip. Vying for control. Hitting and kicking and punching each other with every snarl between them, every thrust of their hips, every bite into tongue and lips. 

He clawed his nails down Kakarot’s sweaty, naked back. Hissed when Kakarot scraped his own nails down Vegeta’s back, almost ripping off his black tee. Hips rolled, ground, moved to the beat—Kakarot moved to the beat, moved them both of the beat—teeth scraping and clicking against each other— 

Vegeta released a feral growl. 

His strong hands slipped down to Kakarot's ass, squeezing the flesh so hard the leather squeaked and wrinkled around his fingers. And the gasp, the shiver, the way Kakarot broke their kiss and threw his head back, arching his whole body into him—Vegeta burned all over from the sight. 

He needed him now. Needed Kakarot in his mouth. Inside him. Taking him hard, tasting his blood, his sweat, take him and wash away the stain of whoever else had their hands on him. The blood, still there, on his neck, on the mark he made, the mark he accidentally put on Kakarot in the throws of passion last time—a mark that Kakarot yelled at him for, a mark Vegeta denied consciously doing— 

Fingers dug into his shoulders. 

Vegeta gasped as Kakarot leaned in to tongue the side of his neck. 

Tongue, followed by teeth. 

He jerked his head back too late. 

Blood from his own neck. His blood, on Kakarot’s lips. Kakarot’s smirking lips. 

Vegeta shot his arms out, aimed for Kakarot’s shoulders, his neck, but he’s too slow. Kakarot snaked away from him, appeared beside him, arms around his waist, and he maneuvered Vegeta around, manipulated his body, forced him back into the crowd, back to the dance floor, and he fought the best he could. He tried, but his body wasn’t cooperating. Not with how Kakarot ground their hips together, ran his hands all over his body, rubbing their hard cocks together the way Kakarot knew Vegeta liked. He fought the whole way, but Kakarot moved him with ease, played with his body with the experience he gained being with Vegeta for years—until it stopped all of a sudden. In time with the music changing to another song. 

People swarmed around them. Strobe lights went off. The music pounded, like Vegeta’s heart and head. 

Lips against his cheek. “C’mon, Vegeta.” Kakarot grabbed one of his hands and planted it on his own ass. Forced Vegeta to grab it hard, and he followed through, bruising the flesh, and he moaned—they both moaned, as one. 

He snatched up Vegeta’s other hand, resting it onto his own waist, and Vegeta gripped that hard too, their hips rolling as a new song started up and the crowd cheered wildly. 

Heavy breathing. Noses brushing. Kakarot’s skin. Kakarot’s body against his. Kakarot’s hands wrapping around his neck, Kakarot’s pink tongue licking the sweat off of his upper lip— 

“C’mon, Prince,” Kakarot hissed. “Show me what you got.”

Then Kakarot twisted around in time with the new song, pressing his ass to Vegeta’s crotch. He threw his hands behind Vegeta’s head and dug in, one hand on his neck, the other clawing at his scalp, and he slithered like a snake, up and down Vegeta’s body. Slithered all the way down, rolling his hips, slithered all the way up, rolling his neck. Curling his tail around Vegeta’s wrist. That tail jerking Vegeta’s hand right to Kakarot’s left hip and staying there. 

His body froze. His mind too. He watched Kakarot move to the rhythm, to the beat, in tempo, keeping time, his hips rolling, swaying, grinding, thrusting the air, running his hands through Vegeta’s hair, pulling at the roots, sliding up and down, raking his nails here and there—as if Kakarot was being fucked hard by him, right there, on the dance floor, in the middle of this huge crowd. 

Kakarot snapped his neck back onto the crook of his neck, his lips parted, his breathing erratic. He ground his ass deeper into Vegeta’s hard cock, rubbed his naked back against Vegeta's chest. From this close, Vegeta saw how Kakarot sucked in and bit down so hard on his bottom lip, he could’ve split it open. 

It hit him then—these were the same moves. The same position from before, with that dumb a Saiyan. Kakarot dancing, grinding, writhing, sighing and moaning and dancing, but with him now. Kakarot was doing it with him. 

Kakarot was dancing with him. 

Kakarot  _ wanted _ him. 

The thought alone seemed to release Vegeta out of his frozen stupor. Both of his hands slid up Kakarot's hips to his sweaty torso, fingers deliberately brushing over his nipples, and he moaned at the sound of Kakarot’s gasp, loud against his ear. Those nipples pebbled under his fingertips and he squeezed the pecs in his hands the way he knew Kakarot enjoyed: painful, pulling, shoving the pecs together, pinching the nipples until Kakarot whined and writhed in his grasp. One last squeeze, and his hands released them to smooth over Kakarot’s chest hair, matted down by sweat. He groaned when Kakarot arched into his touch, bucked his ass into Vegeta’s crotch, gasped for air, and Vegeta snaked an arm around Kakarot’s waist, the other down his side—and he took control. He moved. He  _ danced _ . 

He rolled his hips, rubbing his crotch against Kakarot's ass hard enough so Kakarot could feel the bulge through the leather, feel it between his ass cheeks. Kakarot thrusted back, matching his rhythm, and soon, they worked together as one mass of flesh, in harmony—playing to each other, anticipating the cues and reacting on instinct. The crowd surrounded them, but the crowd didn’t notice them, didn’t care, because they became one of them, part of the scene, just some other Saiyan couple getting dirty in the club. And it felt good. It felt right. 

Vegeta chuckled into Kakarot's ear.

He slid a hand to Kakarot's crotch and squeezed. 

The sound of Kakarot’s choked moan nearly made Vegeta come in his pants. 

He thrusted into Kakarot's ass, massaged Kakarot's dick in his hand, raked the other across Kakarot's sweaty torso, red welts rising in his wake, until his nails brushed one of Kakarot’s nipples. He pulled it, tugged it while his neck dipped, lips brushing the drying, bloody bite, all the while, Vegeta stayed in tempo, keeping time.

His teeth scraped the bite.

Kakarot whined, slapping a hand over Vegeta's on his crotch. 

Vegeta growled when Kakarot’s hand squeezed his. A warning growl, but Kakarot didn’t listen. He yanked Vegeta’s hand off himself, and Vegeta prepared for another fight, another quarrel with words or with fists, but Kakarot did neither. He twined their fingers together, sweaty palm meeting sweaty palm, and Vegeta froze again at the devilish smirk on that usually cherubic face. 

“Follow me,” Kakarot said. 

Again, his body moved for him. By the time his mind caught up, they were squeezing themselves through the crowd, the lights cascading shades of red, as if bathing the room in blood. The heat rose, the noise too, his vision blurring like fog, but Kakarot stayed in focus. Kakarot led him away, tugged him forward in the black-red sea of sweat and skin, until they reached the farthest corner of the club, where it was easier to breathe, easier to see. 

Cooler air filled his lungs. Still dizzy, still damp, but it was cooler here. Nicer. The darkness was much more preferable to the pounding music and the lights. 

He followed Kakarot down a narrow corridor, turned to the left, and yelped when Kakarot jerked open a door seemingly out of nowhere and shoved them both into a dirty bathroom. 

The door slammed when his back slammed on the wall, his head bouncing off. Cool tile on his hot skin. Kakarot’s tongue slipped into his mouth. Hands shoved into his pants, into his briefs, grabbed his dick and squeezed—and Vegeta jerked up and moaned, clutching Kakarot's biceps for balance. Kakarot knew what he liked. He learned well.

The sound of the zipper falling was so much louder than the muffled music outside. Low bass notes vibrated the floor and the walls, the fluorescent overhead flickering to the beat. His ears buzzed and his head spun as Kakarot shoved Vegeta’s pants down to his knees, followed by Kakarot falling to his own. Big, strong palms slid down his naked thighs, back up to his balls, cupped them, squeezed them, warm breath blowing the tip of his cock, and Vegeta moaned, anchoring his fingers into Kakarot’s hair, tilting his hips up in offering as his head lolled forward. 

Kakarot took his cock into his mouth with ease. 

It was like before—like each time he ever had Kakarot, ever since the beginning, however long ago that was. And it was still the best head Vegeta ever had. Kakarot massaged his balls as his tongue worked on his shaft, licking and circling, bobbing his head to get it all. He rubbed Vegeta’s quivering stomach with his free hand, thumbed his bellybutton, muffle-moaned around his dick and Vegeta moaned back, thrusting into his mouth until they made a rhythm. 

But they could get caught this time. They could be found. Someone could open the door. Someone could walk in to take a piss and they’d find some slut on his knees sucking off a stranger. Then want a piece of the action. Or he'd know his face. Know who Vegeta was. And then what? What could Kakarot do to save face? Use his mouth again. Hurt his knees again. Suck the guy into silence. Suck him off until he was done and Vegeta killed the man for touching what was his to have, his to use, his to fuck, his and his alone— 

Vegeta released an animalistic snarl as he came.

Kakarot buried his face into his crotch, sucking him deeper.

Choked whimpers bled from his dry lips as Kakarot licked him clean, swallowing everything. He pulled away with a loud pop that echoed off the tiled walls. Vegeta’s hands released Kakarot's head, hanging limp by his sides. He fought for breath, legs vibrating like the bass beat, and his body gave out on him, sliding down the tile down to his bare ass.

Nose to nose now. At eye level, almost. Even on the ground, Kakarot still slightly towered over him. “Out already?” Kakarot chuckled. “You must've wanted me bad.”

Vegeta shoved Kakarot down to the floor in response, covering the man’s large body with his own slender frame. But he didn’t go for the man’s red, well-kissed lips. He scooted down on the dirty floor, down Kakarot’s sweaty torso, right to his crotch. To the large dick straining there, beneath the leather. 

His fingers easily pull the zipper down and that hard cock sprung out, slapping up against Kakarot’s stomach, the tip red and leaking. Kakarot’s gasp echoed in the bathroom. Leather flaps soon kissed Vegeta’s cheeks, followed by a pair of strong fingers sinking deep into his hair. 

He peeked through his eyelashes and found a red-faced Kakarot staring down at him, lips parted wide—in shock. In need.

Vegeta let his tongue out, slipping Kakarot into his mouth. 

He leaned in, shut his eyes and closed his lips around his cock. His tongue worked like Kakarot's did, but he sucked him all in, down to the root, nose pressing into pubic hair and hands squeezing into leather. He bruised and massaged his ass, swallowed and moaned around him, focusing on what he knew Kakarot liked, just as Kakarot did. And Kakarot fell apart beneath him. Fell to pieces. Heard his forearms slamming into the tile, Kakarot's loud, "Fuck!" followed by his guttural moan. Vegeta peeked his eyes open again and moaned around Kakarot’s cock at what he found: Kakarot writhing on the dirty floor, hips thrusting into him, face twisted in pleasure-pain, eyes screwed shut, sweat dripping from his chin, down to his collarbones. 

"Fuck me Vegeta…" Kakarot jerked on his hair, trembled all over, his breathing picking up, whimpers spilling from his lips—and Vegeta growled at the smell of Kakarot’s natural lubricant, the sight of Kakarot’s tail winding around his left bicep. "Fuck me please…"

He gripped the leather and yanked the pants down over Kakarot's bucking ass. His palms slid up and squeezed the bruised skin, leaving more marks, more imprints of his fingers. And Kakarot squealed, fucked his mouth faster, squeezed his tail even tighter around his bicep, spread his legs as wide as he could, and Vegeta gave Kakarot what he wanted. He slipped his finger easily into his ass. 

Kakarot groaned, squeezing around his finger. “Yes… yes…” The natural lubricant, his wetness, the musk from that beautiful tail—it spurned Vegeta on to move his finger in time with the bobbing of his head. To fuck Kakarot like he clearly needed it. And he wanted to give it to him. He wanted to fuck him stupid, fuck him raw, remind Kakarot who he belonged to, who owned him, who knew him best, who wanted him as his alone and no one else. 

He twisted his finger there and there, fucking Kakarot as Kakarot fucked his mouth. They made a new rhythm, changed the beat, Kakarot gasping as he bucked up into his mouth, Vegeta groaning as he slipped another finger inside that wet hole. He knew what to do, knew where Kakarot’s spot was, and he found it easily, crooking his fingers and pressing down hard, and the reaction was all he needed to hear to keep going, to keep driving Kakarot crazy. 

“Oh fuck yes!” Kakarot cried, pulling on Vegeta’s hair, his hips bucking wildly. “That’s it… that’s it!” More wetness spilled out of his hole, coating Vegeta’s moving fingers. “Fuuuck, Vegetaaah!”

Vegeta moved his fingers, massaged that spot, rubbed it in circles, felt those balls become taut, his ass tightening and pulsating around his fingers—and he pulled his mouth away at the moment of orgasm. 

His lips curled into a cruel smirk at the sound of Kakarot’s sob. 

He looked down at him, ready to mock him, ready to tease—but the urge died at the sight of Kakarot there, gaping up at him, pupils dilated, arms falling slack to his sides. Completely gone. Lost in lust. Legs still spread. Cock shining with saliva, red and purple and painfully hard. Wetness pouring out of his hole in copious amounts, leaving almost a puddle on the dirty floor. Wetness that began to prune Vegeta’s fingers, still inside Kakarot’s ass. 

Slowly, he pulled his two fingers out. 

Kakarot’s red lips formed his name with no voice. A plea. Desperation. 

He pushed them back in, just as slow. 

His cock hardened at the sight of Kakarot writhing, twitching, gasping for him. Every circle and thrust of his fingers, every deliberate, slow rub to his prostate—it spurned him on to do more, to fuck Kakarot more. He thumbed his perineum beneath his balls, pushing against the prostate on the outside as much as he did on the inside, and the reaction was glorious: a loud animalistic wail, hands slamming and cracking the dirty floor, ass pulsating around his two fingers, a gush of liquid pouring out of him, and the tail around his bicep yanking Vegeta forward with all its might, but Kakarot was too weak, too gone and lost in his pleasure to really follow through. 

It was perfect. Gorgeous. A Saiyan submitting to his carnal desires and lust, abandoning all thought and succumbing to his baser instincts. A strong Saiyan, despite his softness, despite his background and initial pedigree. A Saiyan Vegeta lusted over all this time. A Saiyan Vegeta knew instinctively was meant to be his, forever, and tonight proved his instincts right. 

One of Kakarot’s hands reached up to him. It trembled as it hovered over the broken floor. 

He moaned, “V-Vegetaaaaah…” His eyes shined with unshed tears. “Please… please, my prince…” 

Vegeta slowly unwound his tail from his waist for the first time the entire night. 

The tip of his tail brushes Kakarot’s wrist. Twines around it. 

With a strong tug, he pulled Kakarot’s body up to him. Held onto his wrist in his tail’s grasp, his free hand going up to cup the back of Kakarot’s neck. 

Totally limp. Kakarot was absolutely limp, with no control over his body. But even with his head lolled back, even with his arm hanging loose to his side and his chest heaving for air, he still kept his attention on Vegeta, never looking away. 

Vegeta brought Kakarot’s hot, flushed face closer to his own. 

He kissed his lips at the same time he rubbed him again in a slow, deliberate circle. 

His instincts screamed when Kakarot cried, when he leaned back and saw and smelled those unshed tears finally fall down his red cheeks. Vegeta smiled—actually smiled—watching Kakarot react to him, convulsing against him, thrusting against his fingers, thrusting up against him—simply  _ gone _ , by his hand and his alone. His to control. His to own. His to have, to protect, to cherish, to be by his side. And he would be the same for Kakarot. He would be his too. 

He kissed Kakarot one last time before whispering, in their native Sadalan, “Kube n’ge m’eh.”  _ Be with me. _

The answer came out in a drawled-out, weak slur of words, but Vegeta heard it well. “M-M’eh n’ge a-au.” I am with you. 

It was easy to manipulate Kakarot’s body. He used his arms and his tail to put Kakarot the way Vegeta wanted: all fours, on his forearms, legs spread, bare ass exposed, his leather pants now ripped away, and his tail hanging off to the side, no longer wrapped around Vegeta’s bicep. He barely had time to position his cock against that wet hole before Kakarot slammed himself onto him, immediately fucking himself in a brutal rhythm. But that wasn’t right. Not for this. It wasn’t the ideal place, nor was it even in the right sequence of events for a mating, but he wasn’t going to stop now. He wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake again. 

Vegeta stilled Kakarot’s hips in his hands, squeezing firm. Kissed the back of Kakarot’s sweaty neck when he cried out, begged him in slurred speech—“Vegeta please fuck please fuck me”—and he nipped the side of his neck. Nipped him right where the old bruise was, and he smiled when Kakarot gasped, shaking all over. 

Against that neck, Vegeta parted his lips, his fangs protruding out. 

He curled his tail around Kakarot’s three times. 

Blood filled his mouth as he sunk his teeth in deep. 

Beneath him, Kakarot threw his head back onto his shoulder. Cried on top of his lungs. He smelled more tears, but they weren’t tinged in sadness. He tasted the joy, the thrill, the excitement, how Kakarot’s whole body thrummed with energy, and Vegeta smirked into the mark, sucking more of Kakarot’s sweet taste. 

With a loud pop, Vegeta moved away from the new mating mark, buried his bloodied mouth into the crook there—and  _ rutted _ .

A burn. An inferno. It rose from every part of his body, from his belly to his spine to his tail. He fucked Kakarot with all of the power he had without using his ki, fucked him without thought, without needing to hold back his strength. The same way he usually fucked Kakarot, but it was so different. So much better now that he allowed their tails to twine, their bodies to be like this, to taste Kakarot like this in his mouth. To hold and own and be with Kakarot this way.

He pulled Kakarot up to his knees, a strong arm around Kakarot’s chest, his free hand going to Kakarot’s hard cock, and he shivered when Kakarot’s cock pulsed and poured come over his hand, some shooting up Kakarot’s chest, the rest landing on the floor. 

But he didn’t stop. He kept going. He milked Kakarot through his orgasm, his strokes eased by Kakarot’s come. Fucked him harder and loved the smell of Kakarot’s wetness, the sound of Kakarot’s ass, the feel of Kakarot’s ass around his cock. Using Kakarot like a fuck toy, but Kakarot, despite how gone and lost in pleasure he was—Kakarot was thrusting back against him. Kakarot created a rhythm with him. He wasn’t completely out of it. He was working with him. He was there, in the moment, with him, and Vegeta held him tighter, hugged him tighter, fucked him harder, stroked him faster, because he was perfect, he was absolutely  _ perfect _ , the perfect Saiyan for him, the perfect mate for a prince— 

Vegeta threw his head back and roared, coming hard into Kakarot. 

Kakarot roared too with him. Against his palm, more hot come shot out. 

Nothingness. A world of bliss. Warm skin. Kakarot’s soothing scent. 

Hard breathing. Fast heartbeats. Sweat. Come everywhere. 

Time passed. 

Vegeta came to first. He found himself curled around Kakarot’s body, one hand on his pec, the other against his lower belly, his face still buried against Kakarot’s neck where the mate mark was. 

Against his neck, something pulsed and burned. His nose caught the scent of blood, and he smiled. When Kakarot bit him back, he didn’t know and clearly didn’t notice. It didn’t matter he wasn’t awake for it. 

His cock slipped out of Kakarot, come pouring out of his abused, stretched hole. In his arm, Kakarot stirred and whimpered, and Vegeta stroked Kakarot’s tail with his—they hadn’t untwined even in sleep. 

He pressed a kiss to the underside of Kakarot’s jaw. Another to the corner of his lips. Vegeta leaned over and found Kakarot’s parted lips waiting for him, reaching for him, and he caught them in his own in a sweet, soft, lingering kiss. 

When he opened his eyes, he found Kakarot staring up at him. Dazed, well-fucked—and loved. Pure love in those beautiful eyes, a sight Vegeta witnessed every time he bedded Kakarot. The thing that always kept Vegeta away, until he saw what it would be like, if Kakarot wasn’t his. If he wasn’t Kakarot’s too. 

“Let’s go home,” Vegeta said. 

It took Kakarot a minute to find his voice, asking in a hoarse whisper, “Home?”

He nodded. 

“Mine or…?”

Vegeta chuckled. “You know where.”

Kakarot’s eyes widened, almost bugging out of his skull. “W-What…” His well-kissed lips curled into a small smile. “You’re serious?”

He twined their tails together three times as he cupped the side of Kakarot’s flushed cheek. “My parents won’t be happy I mated before their consent.” He smirked. “But mother has always liked you, so she’ll straighten father out.”

Vegeta smiled into the kiss Kakarot planted onto his lips—a desperate, messy kiss with Kakarot laughing and giggling into it the whole time. But it was perfect. It was what he needed and wanted and he had it all, with Kakarot. 

It proved easy getting out of the club with Kakarot, since he knew the back exit. This time, there were no people to push through, no prying eyes, no loud music to deal with. It was ideal, too, since Kakarot had no pants to put on anymore, the leather shredded to all hell, while he himself still had some semblance of clothes. 

He carried Kakarot in the air, flying him high in the sky over the clouds, heading in the direction of the palace. While he didn’t know exactly what province or quadrant they were in, the lights of the castle were the only signals Vegeta needed to know where he was going. 

Against him, Kakarot hugged his arms around his neck, snuggling up into his chest. A small yawn came out against his sternum, followed by: “Think Raditz will notice you’re gone?”

“Tch. Moron never does.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my brother.” 

Vegeta chuckled along with Kakarot, flying closer to the lights and the warmth of home and their future together. 


End file.
